


You Know What They Say About Big Hands

by renquise



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: M/M, PWP, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-30
Updated: 2009-11-30
Packaged: 2017-10-14 09:40:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/147911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renquise/pseuds/renquise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a difference, somehow, between knowing that Heavy’s the human equivalent of a brick wall crossed with a really violent bear, and feeling Heavy’s hand at his back, almost spanning his rib cage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Know What They Say About Big Hands

Thing is, it’s not as if he’s fuckin’ small or anything. Sure, his asshole brothers ragged on him for being the runt of the litter but fuck ‘em, he’s totally grown since then, and he could beat the crap out of any of them, too.

It’s just weird to feel the muscles in his thighs straining as he kneels over Heavy’s lap, his legs spread to almost to the limits of his flexibility. It’s like this flash of insight that fuck, Heavy’s a really big guy. And yeah, that sounds stupid even in his head. Of course Heavy’s a tank—that’s what he’s here for, to be a walking meatshield and lug around freakin’ miniguns. But there’s a difference, somehow, between knowing that Heavy’s the human equivalent of a brick wall crossed with a really violent bear, and feeling Heavy’s hand at his back, almost spanning his rib cage.

A shiver courses up his spine, sharp and electric, when Heavy shifts his hand on his bare back, his thick thumb running over a knob in Scout’s spine. Fuck, he feels like a girl, with the way the tiniest things are affecting him, his skin over-sensitive everywhere.

“Little man is cold?” Heavy rumbles, and he can feel the vibration of his speech through his hand on Heavy’s chest.

Scout barks a laugh, shifting on his knees and forcing himself to move his hand. “Fuck no, what do you think I am, some kind of pussy?” he says.

“In motherland, is much colder,” Heavy says, shrugging, and Scout can’t help but look at the almost tectonic rise and fall of his shoulders, glancing away before he gets caught looking.

“Yeah, yeah, they build you commies out of freakin’ concrete and feed you rocks, whatever.”

Before he loses the guts to do it, Scout reaches down to unbuckle his belt with a clink that seems way too loud in the room. He undoes his pants with a sigh, and fuck, it’s almost embarrassing how hard he is already. He glances up for a quick second and then reaches for Heavy’s pants, too, ‘cause, yeah, this had been his idea, right? Right.

Still, it’s hard to think of a more awkward conversation than trying to communicate to a giant Russian man with a kind of limited English vocabulary the idea “Hey, I’m not gay or anything, but your hands are fucking huge and I kind of want you to finger-fuck me.” Not to mention that Scout’s tendency towards talking with his hands made things kind of weird, too. Thank god Medic hadn’t been there—Scout can’t figure out if that would have made it more or less awkward. He hadn’t asked any questions when he’d caught Scout rifling through the medical cabinet for something-totally-not-lube-really, choosing to simply give him a really eloquent raised eyebrow and going back to dismembering his cadaver of the day or something. Still, Heavy tells Medic pretty much everything, so maybe that’s why he hadn’t been surprised?

Fuck, he’s totally over-thinking this. With a slight wiggle, Scout kicks his pants off, and he reaches up to push his cap back before realizing that it had already gotten knocked off when he’d stripped off his shirt. His hands hang uselessly in the air for a second, because fuck, what is he supposed to do from here? With girls, you’d kiss and stuff, but kissing Heavy would be really freakin’ weird.

Heavy solves the problem pretty efficiently by pulling Scout towards him, and oh—yeah, that feels good, their dicks rubbing against each other. “Fuck, yeah, that’s it,” he mutters, grabbing at Heavy’s shoulder. Heavy rumbles something in Russian that Scout can’t understand, but it definitely doesn’t sound like he’s protesting.

Heavy’s skin is hot against his as Scout rubs up against him, trying to get more of that friction. He grinds down firmly on Heavy’s lap, grinning when Heavy lets out a low grunt, his hand flexing on Scout’s back.

But, okay, okay, he needs to focus here, because there’s something he wants, right?

Working up his nerve, Scout slaps the tube of lube on Heavy’s chest, saying, “C’mon, let’s do this thing.” Heavy raises his eyebrows—fuck, he probably learned that expression from Medic—and takes it from him, a slow smile spreading across his face. Some part of his mind that’s still got blood coming to it can’t help but laugh at the way that the tube looks freakin’ tiny in Heavy’s paws, but then again, anything looks tiny when Heavy’s holding it.

He bounces a bit on Heavy’s lap—there’s all this twitchy energy running through his veins, like he could run a million laps around the base. Heavy clamps a hand down on his leg, simply saying, “Stop moving so much.”

Scout swallows, his throat suddenly dry, and stills.

And then Heavy’s pressing one thick, meaty finger into him, and fuck, it stings a little, but mostly, there’s just this sweet, hot stretch that’s got him gasping for air. It’s like reaching just that bit further when he’s stretching in the mornings, that kind of amazing burn that’s almost, almost going too far.

He clenches a bit, and fuck, it’s just _big_. There’s no other word for it, even though he can see the freakin’ “that’s what she said” jibe coming a mile away. He’s, you know, stuck a finger or two in before, because he was curious, okay? But this is totally, totally different—his own hands aren’t girl hands or anything, but Heavy’s fingers are like freakin’ sausages, man.

“Is good, yes?” Heavy says, looking at him. Scout opens his mouth to say something like “it’s fucking fine, do something already,” when Heavy shifts his finger, and Scout has to bite his lip to keep any girly noises from coming out. He settles for nodding once, sharply, his eyes slipping shut as he shifts, moving experimentally.

When he opens his eyes again, Heavy’s looking at him like he got clobbered over the head with a bat or something, all dazed and stuff. And yeah, it’s nice to have caused that look on someone’s face, looking at Scout like he’s something amazing. Which, you know, he is, but still.

But yeah, Heavy isn’t moving nearly as quickly as Scout would like, his movements slow and ponderous. He can hear himself going “C’mon, c’mon, fuck, do it, c’mon, _move_ ,” a steady stream of cussing coming from his lips, and he’s not short of breath, fuck no, who do you think he is, but he can feel his muscles burning, hear the thumping of his blood in his ears, like reaching for that last mile.

Things are a blur of heat and flesh, and through that haze, Scout feels another finger tentatively pushing in, slowly. He pushes back on it, trying to get that slightest bit more, and letting out a slow, hissing breath, gradually working himself down on it.

It’s kind of weird to offhandedly realize that crap, he forgot to take his socks off—he can feel one of them sliding down to sag around his ankle—and it’s such a weird, random thought to have while he’s being freaking _finger-banged_ by freaking _Heavy_ that he can’t help but huff out a breathless laugh into Heavy’s neck.

Heavy turns his head a bit to give him a confused look, tendons shifting in his thick neck. Scout grins at him, and bites down lightly. Heavy’s fingers in him stutter slightly, and oh yeah, Scout’s doing that again, sucking and licking at the skin there, his hand grasping the back of Heavy’s neck.

He’s outright riding Heavy’s fingers now, his legs flexing hard, and if he angles it just right, it sets off sparks behind his eyes when he pushes down. Heavy’s other hand is still spread wide on his back, kinda petting, and Scout catches himself leaning against it even as he feels Heavy pull him in closer.

Scout reaches down to wrap his hand around both of their cocks, and fuck, he should feel a little inadequate, because Heavy’s, well, _big_ , but fuck it, proportions, right? He fumbles a bit, feeling clumsy, and he can’t get a good grip—Heavy’s fingers in him pumping in and out just feel damn good, and it’s hard to concentrate. He really likes hanging on to the muscle of Heavy’s neck, but yeah, it’s going to take two hands. And _there_ , yeah, yeah, he’s got a good stroke going, and he has to muffle a groan when Heavy’s fingers suddenly push deep into him, because it’s so, so fucking good.

He smashes his mouth against Heavy’s, and it’s definitely not the best kiss, clumsy and uncoordinated, but there’s the feeling of Heavy’s wide mouth against his, the slickness of spit, the rasp of stubble against his face. It’s this weird mixture of sensations and textures, and he has to shift closer to Heavy, curling in towards him to get more contact.

Dimly, he can feel the muted rumble of Heavy’s voice muttering “Little, little man,” and usually, Scout would totally be all up in his grill about that, but his mind’s kind of hazy right now, his focus narrowed down to touch.

Heavy shifts his hand from where it’s been resting on Scout’s back to stroke his leg, slowly massaging the muscles there and inadvertently pulling his legs open wider. It’s kind of frustrating, because he doesn’t have the leverage to really ride him with his legs spread this wide—he can only grind down against Heavy in short little thrusts, and hope that Heavy can give him more.

Scout’s so, so close, and he isn’t even really thinking when he pants into Heavy’s mouth, “One more, man, give me one more, do it, do it.” He shifts back against Heavy’s fingers to make his point clear, and Heavy groans something like, “Is too much for little man.”

Scout only grins sloppily at him, punching his shoulder lightly. “Fuck you, I can take it, just—fuck— _come on_.” His legs shake a little under him when he raises himself up unto his knees, only to push back insistently on Heavy’s fingers.

Scout would never admit the way that he’s outright clinging onto Heavy now, fingers digging into Heavy’s shoulders as he feels the tip of another finger. There’s a brief flutter of panic in the pit of his belly, because fuck, is it really going to fit? The third slick finger pushes the edge of too much, slowly spreading him wide open and, god, filling him just that little bit more.

Pushing in a little more, Heavy tilts his head towards him, rumbling in a muted voice, “You must take breath, da?”

Scout realizes that he’s been holding his breath, letting it out in a rush and trying to take in a gulp of air. It takes him a few seconds to find his words, and when they come out, his voice is this weird, hoarse thing. “Heavy, fuck, do it, do it already.”

Heavy complies, and that last push has Scout gasping, split open on Heavy’s fingers. He can’t even process the way his hips are moving in short, insistent thrusts, just trying to get the fingers deeper, trying to—oh. Oh, yeah. He just feels so damn full right now, and some little part of his mind is saying that he won’t be running quite as fast as usual tomorrow, but fuck, he can’t pay attention to anything but the slick stretch of the fingers moving inside him, the skin and muscle he’s rubbing against, the hot slide of Heavy’s cock against his own.

His mind blanks out a bit when Heavy wraps one huge hand around his cock, fingers rough and calloused and so damn big, and yeah, that does it, he’s gone, his mouth spread wide against the skin of Heavy’s neck.

Scout’s panting against Heavy’s shoulder like he’s just finished running a marathon, and his muscles feel like jelly, loose and shaky. He’s a bit sore when Heavy slowly pulls his fingers out—it’s weird to feel Heavy moving so damn carefully—but it’s a good kind of sore, like at the end of a day of fighting. Dimly, he can still feel Heavy’s dick pressing against his belly, hot and thick, and Scout reaches down to wrap a hand around it. He leans against Heavy, moving smooth and languid, with that twist at the end that he likes on himself. It’s kind of weird, but he likes the way that Heavy clutches onto his back as his breathing gets rougher, deeper in his ear.

He’s muttering into Heavy’s neck now, freakin’ ridiculous bullshit that he would never dream of saying but he’s just feeling so damn good that he can’t bring himself to care. Hell, there isn’t that much of a filter between his brain and his mouth in the first place. “Fuck, yeah, yeah, that’s it, big guy, I fuckin’ love your fingers—gonna get that fuckin’ ridiculous thing in me next time, you just watch, yeah—“

Scout feels the muscles under him tense up, and Heavy comes in his hand with a deep groan. Without Heavy to support both of them, they collapse against the bed, and Scout’s kind of glad that Heavy falls back instead of crushing him, because he’s not sure he’d have the energy to complain about it.

There’s a part of his mind that’s weirded out by the fact that he’s just had some of the best sex of his life with a giant Russian man, but fuck it, he feels too good right now to linger on that. Heavy’s body gives off heat like a furnace, which is actually really nice, and he throws a large arm over Scout when Scout eventually rolls off of him—and for the record, that’s totally Heavy cuddling Scout. Scout has nothing to do with it, even if he pushes back into that touch a bit, seeking that warmth.

And yeah, he’s probably going to end up in the wet spot at some point, and Heavy’s going to hog all the freakin’ covers, but he can’t bring himself to care. Instead, he scoots back against Heavy’s chest, muttering, “If you say one word about ‘tiny-itty-bitty baby men,’ I swear to god I’m going to punch you.” At his back, he can feel Heavy’s chest vibrating a bit with deep, booming laughs, and under that, beating in counterpoint, the low, steady pulse of a massive heart.


End file.
